Of Penguins and Puffins  THE REWRITE
by WeevilFanGirl
Summary: after years of hiatus P&P is coming back with a new level of epic and maybe even a thought out plot!  minor mention of the Teen Titans in the Prologue and they don't really reoccur. why is penguin not on the character list?
1. 21 years ago

"Friend, you don't have to do this...we can help y-"

"SHUT UP!"

Torrential rain poured down upon Jump City, lightening lighting up the night sky as thunder roared out in deafening bellows. The wind howled and whipped so that those talking had to yell just to be heard, even though they were only standing a few yards apart from each other.

Six people stood in the middle of the bridge leading out of the city- one staring down the other five and vice versa. To one side- blocking the road out of the city, were five people that were unmistakeable. The heroic young Teen Titans. On the other- glaring and covered in blood was a young girl with hair just as red as the stains on her hands.

"Get outta me way or I'll move ya myself! I'll take you all out- the same i did them! You all responsible! IS YOUR FAULT 'E'S DEAD!"

"What happened was wrong...but you killed people just the same- we can't let you run, but we can help you if you let us." The boy wonder tried to calm the screaming girl as the rain pattered down harder still. The rest of the group looking around warily as hail began to join the weather party.

She only stared at him for what seemed much longer then it really was, closing her eyes turning her head away. "Heh..." was all she muttered before raising an accusing finger to him, staring him down through her soaked hair that was clinging to her grim expressioned face. "You nothin but a lil' snot, wot don't know nuthin 'bout nuthin." The storm practically devoured her cockney coated words as she continued her frown only spreading into a rage that seemed to reflect the storm itself. "Where were ya when 'e needed you? When a cop gunned down me father where were ya? There's a bunch of 'eros for ya... flash a badge and you can get away with murder ya can. Sum'on wot 'as a sketchy past, oh its alright ta let 'im die, god forbid they' killea get the same in return. Well forget that load a bollocks! I aint playin that game no more! Now I'll say it one more time, outta me way or a'll make ya move."

"Crossfire, That's not-" Beastboy began but was cut off as a baton struck him head on between the eyes knocking him back off his feet, Crossfire looking to him like he had just spit poison at her.

"Crossfire is dead."

It was the last thing from the girls mouth before she turned rushing for the edge of the bridge. The whole group darted after her as she made a swan dive off the edge, into the churning waters below. A violent bolt crashed down on the bridge, shaking its supports making everyone fumble and look- no one hurt nothing damaged, but the girl known as Crossfire it would seem- was gone for good.


	2. Poor Pityful Pearl

January 4th, 9 P.m. Eastern Standard time, he took another long drink, to leave the world behind. He wasn't usually one to partake Cosmopolitans but he needed something other than the usual shit. First shots were straight up Vodka*(1), and normally he'd be fine with just the burn of that one drink if he was grumpy enough to drink something other than champagne, but tonight had been the straw that had broken the camel's back after a long string of things piling up mounting up to it.

Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, no not right now. Not anymore anyways. Or perhaps it never had been that. Why bother with a name that no longer held any meaning to it. It'd been so many years he'd been fighting to show the world that the name Cobblepot still was as strong as it had always been, all of that had amounted to absolute squat. Perhaps now it was best just to refer to him as The Penguin. No. Not that either. He had tried to prove himself able to run with the big dogs but...with all the sociopaths, psychopaths, lunatics, and freaks of the Gotham underground, being little more than a common thief with a tricked out umbrella...made you possibly the least intimidating thing around. So what was he? Well right this very moment...he was drunk off his ass.

A long string of things piling up was the understatement of the century. Things had been piling up for the past 37 years now. It had all started with his parents. No...he couldn't even think of the people that he should have known as mother and father like that. He knew them simply as Tucker and Esther Cobblepot. They had been Cobblepots...when the name still meant something. It was their doing that it no longer meant anything as well. Thanks to them, the family fortune and respect had been squandered away leaving him nothing when they got themselves killed by a bad case of Pneumonia for him and for her- CJD. Not that he would of had anything even if they had any by the time that came around.

"Nnnnhn..." he grumbled under his breath his glassy eyes moved slowly across the walls, as if he were worried he'd lose track of where he was at if he wasn't careful. Eventually his gaze came to rest around the area of a torn up portrait. Three people were in it at one time- Tucker Esther and a young Oswald. All that was left was the later of the three. Still he could see their image burnt into his mind. His mother with her faux smile, that covered her disappointment. His father resting his hand on his shoulder pretending to be the good man that society saw him as, but his expression cold as ice. He had done everything a decent son could do and still have human flaw. What was the reason they would deny him even the simplest sign of affection?

He looked down to his hand counting it off. First on his thumb there was the fact that they had not wanted a child. An heir yes- a child no. It had been his fault that they had not been prepared for a screaming wailing brat apparently. It had been his intention to put them off by simply existing. It had all been an elaborate plot he'd devised in the womb apparently.

Next on his index finger there was the fact that he was never a good enough son for them. He had been quite a genius in certain matters, but not in what was important to them. He didn't see the appeal of living check to check- no matter how many 0's were on it. That had changed over the years but considering he'd fooled the world into thinking he was still a millionaire on 1's and 10's he was pretty damn sure if he even got a piece of his fortune back he'd never loose it so long as he lived.

He gulped down the last bits of the content of his martini glass only to find it empty. Grumbling to himself he tore himself out of his thought process getting out of the chair that was falling to pieces heading to the kitchen hissing about the fact why he had left it in there. He wasn't as drunk as he looked- far from it. The glassy gaze in his eyes was not from the alcohol. He didn't drink much but he wasn't a light weight. He pulled out the Vodka and Sec raising a brow glancing back at the shaker. Rolling his eyes he balanced both the bottles grabbing the rest of the mix and supplies dragging them out to the living room with him not wanting to get up every time he wanted to refill his drink which he had a few times that night. Few meaning that both bottles of alcohol were barely a fourth of the way full and he had started them both new that evening. He wasn't as drunk as he looked...according to him.

He absent mindedly started mixing the cocktail deftly trying to remember where it was he'd jumped off his train of thought. Shaking up the drink he looked down his brain not wanting to cooperate it was as he looked back to his fingers he remembered. Oh right. What a horrible person he was.

Looking to where his middle finger ought to have been, slowly stopping the shaking staring at his hand came the biggest reason of all. Instead of having two fingers past that...the three of them had formed together making his hands- flippered rather than human. His teeth that were closer to fangs than they were actual teeth. His face that would be normal if not for the beakish nose and his elfish ears. The fact that he didn't seem to of gotten his growth spurt and never broke 5- maxing out at 4 foot 9 without his hat. The biggest reason he had been denied anything and everything in his life. He was a freak!

Remaining still for some time just staring at his warped hand it was building up. His grip getting tighter and tighter, as everything boiled up hotter and hotter. His breath growing heavier as his lips curled back into a terrible grit fanged grimace eyes dilating even more than they were from his drunken state. With no more warning than that the Gasket finally blew.

The mixing glass shattered in his hand spilling blood, ice and the pink cocktail to the tattered and ripped up carpet. In a blind rage responding to the pain of glass imbedding itself into his soft palm and citrus seeping into the gashes, the shaker found itself flung across the room, striking the wall hard enough to dent the metal, the clatter mingling with his squawk of agony. He was ready to snap, just put his fist through a wall and say screw it all to hell. Break anything and anyone he could. He'd had enough of this bull. Enough of being the butt of the jokes, enough of being the laughing stock, enough of coming up short, Enough of everything going wrong and never going his way, ENOUGH OF EVERYTHING!

Glaring over towards where he left everything he swiped up a bottle in each hand- taking a long gulp of the Vodka emptying half of the remains of it into his mouth in one swift movement, doing the same with the bloodied bottle of Triple sec and doing the same. Cheeks puffed out like a drunken chipmunk he glared at the cranberry juice as if it had personally offended him. Screw it. He was done sugar coating everything. Throwing his head back gargling to mix his drink in his mouth swallowing it hard he collapsed back into his chair. Arms fell to the sides head slumping down, he let his mind fly off- until the only connection to reality he had left was the soft plink plink of the blood, the only thing that seemed to make him human to society, the thing that made him weak to the underground, falling to the floor.

~'~'~'~

Snow had just began dusting over the streets of Gotham. The chill and the snow did nothing to stop the night owls of the city though. There was all kinds of Gothamites. There was Claudia who needed desperately to get to the store, not one able to deal with mass public she had to do so at the odd hours of night. There was Steve returning home from helping with a church dinner. There was Sally who was sneaking home with Martin, knowing that Billy wouldn't be home for quite a few more hours. There was Billy who was coming home early because he got fired from his job for making a move on the secretary. There was a number of others wandering around but you got the idea.

At exactly 8:15 p.m. that evening the worse Arkham break the city had seen in years had occurred. A string of explosions set off around the perimeter had taken out huge chunks of the outer walls. More placed strategically around in inside had blasted holes in the whole building. It looked like swiss cheese by the time the work had been done, and not a single person confined there took for granted the sudden accessibility to the outside world. All that remained was a gate. While it could not be confirmed and most people took it as a joke- two guards insisted they had seen two European swallows carrying a nice sized stick of dynamite on a line swoop down to drop the final blow to the gateway sending it flying open and releasing the worst of the worst unto Gotham.*(2)

To an outsider it might seem crazy, walking about the streets with such chaos on the loose, the Arkham alarms uselessly still blaring into the cold winter air- the watch tower having taken a hard hit in the assault leaving it scared and inaccessible - what had become of who was in there was still unknown but considering the it had been almost an hour and the sirens were still howling at the city, it seemed grim. To someone who had lived there more than a month, it was just a walk in the park and your average day. Maybe a bit more hectic than usual but nothing to fear. After all they had seen Joker before. They had seen Ivy. They had seen Freeze and Harvey and Catwoman and Riddler...and they all knew that they would be out eventually anyways. Some may call it sad that a person could grow use to and actually account for a maniac being on the loose, but to the citizens of Gotham it was perfectly normal. They had nothing to worry about anyways. They had The Batman lurking over them, and so long as that comfort continued- the normal nightmarish hell that this should have been, this was no more than a migraine.

There was no reason at all that the girl in the faded black suede blazer and midnight black hair in a ponytail down to the back of her thighs would stand out at all. There wasn't anything odd about the fact that she kept her hands shoved in her pockets, where it was much warmer than the January air. The paranoia that came from living in a large city explained the reasoning why anytime someone and her crossed paths her eyes followed them behind her red Lennon glasses. Plenty of people had their shares of battle scars and injuries, either from unfortunate run ins with criminals or just happened to have mishaps- so while the nasty burn that covered her right cheek and the deep scar that went down from her left brow, though her eye down almost to meet with her nose, got a few stares it wasn't anything that would cause alarm. There was no reason for the female to go questioned and as such she didn't go questioned. Though that might have change if one would have noticed high in the clouds- the two swallows following her straight as the crow flies.

~'~'~'~

"Unnnngghnnn..."

Penguin fumbled around blindly for...what was it he was looking for again? He couldn't remember. The throbbing pain in his hand and his more than half shut off brain were refusing to let him focus on anything. Looking around he started blinking confused. He could only see well out of his left eye. Great something else to hinder him. Moving to stand up though he found that, that wasn't the best of ideas, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

"Ok...i thunk I'm...drink now..." Yup. That was about as coherent as he could make himself even when he stopped to think about what he was saying. A sad state to say the very least. Looking over at the torn up family portrait, his half blind gaze met with that of the snide expression of his younger self. How dare he look at him like that. He'd show him. The same he'd show everyone who looked down at him. Half stumbling half swaying he made his way over towards it, managing to almost fall over his own feet only once. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn't notice that he narrowly avoided stepping right on his eyepiece.

"whuttur yoOu lookin at y...BRat., Y'gootta lotta nurve...lukin ash me...likeat..." He was staggering around hopelessly to try to even just stay standing up as he argued with the portrait. Obviously it couldn't answer him being inanimate and all, but that wasn't priority in his foggy mind. He wasn't going to take the silent treatment from anyone, not even a picture of himself.

"Oh blowin meh off! I dun needta takeit from y..oU.." He smacked himself on his chest practically knocking himself over backwards in the process. "Peuple wull...Respech me...Whuod wanna dayum creepy Kid like you huh Tthash right...nuone..."

...

To him the continued silence, along with that patronizing scowl he was giving him down that ugly beak of his was a sign of challenging him. He was mocking him! "Lishun 'ere... I may nut be mush now...but 'mmmore than yOu'll...DEaver be!"

That glower of disapproval, that perpetual gaze of looking down at him that everyone gave him. People gave it to him for being a criminal, criminals gave it to him for being a person. Creatures gave it to him for being human, humans gave it to him for looking like a creature. The sane gave it to him for being crazy, the mental gave it to him for still having his sanity. No matter where he had turned to or what game he played he was always met with the same disapproval. Even by himself. Even by Oswald who had tried his best to follow the leader. Even Oswald who was laughed at and shunned. Even Oswald who had even less then him - looked down on the pitiful being known as Penguin.

Tears of rage had built up at his lashes, though he was to drunk, to angry, to frayed at the immediate moment to even notice. Screaming out in a hoarse voice that sounded closer to an angry squawk than an actual human outcry, he ripped the tattered and torn painting, frame and all from the wall throwing it to the floor. The sound of his own inhuman voice voice however only threw gas onto the flame of his rage and with only one thing to take it out on he turned on it again. That damn reminder of everything wrong with his world, and everything that everyone seemed to hate about who he was, was still clattering to the ground as he moved in one steady movement following the flow of motion with the throw he made kicking the old brass frame as rad as he could. The defenseless object had no resistance to the abuse and flew across the room meeting with a loud crash against the door of the lounge, punctuated by the sound of splintering wood and creaking metal.

Silence once again enveloped the room, the outburst subsiding to a quiet rumble after the storm. Still one couldn't help but feel it was just the build up to an aftershock. Letting out a long shaky sigh he ran his hand through his hair that had become even more a mess than it usually was, a tangle of orange flying off in every direction. Wincing slightly from a combination of the feeling of the sweat that was at his brow and a sting of pain that effectively started to sober him up a bit. Why in the world did his hand hurt so bad? Meh probably got caught on the frame or...oh right. His first tantrum that night. Considering the state he was in, with his trembling fists and the heavy rise and fall of his shoulders he really did look like a man at the end of the rope.

The expression of dismay that came across his face as he looked up to find the painting facing him, despite all the abuse he'd inflicted upon it tonight only made proved to make him look more worn out with his fight against society. This time though it wasn't just his own face staring him down. It had landed upside down so the shreds of canvas he'd torn that would normally be hanging limp fell back into their place revealing the other two people that belonged there. Ester and Tucker both looked back at him with even more disapproval than young Oswald. Looking away closing his eyes to force back the hot tears he had become conscious of. Fists clenched tight enough to turn knuckles white, sharp teeth threatening to break skin as he bit his lip. It wasn't so much agony...he'd gotten past wallowing in self pity the day he became The Penguin. After all what crime lord cried over how bad their life prior to that sucked? None. None with any shred of self respect anyways. It was more spite and anger at the mother ashamed of the monster she birthed, the father disappointed with the failure he raised and the child who had played by the rules just to end up with peanuts while everyone else was eating fat.

Dizzy from the head-rush from the emotional break down, the stress, the alcohol, everything that had hit him that night just piling up so much he fell to his hands and knees as the room spun around him. Despite it all he could do nothing but let out a soft broken clucking chuckle. "You...I lost everything to you..." He choked out through his laughs. "My birthright...my pride...all gone thanks to you."

Honestly he wasn't even sure which one of them the accusation was directed at. Himself. Family. Society. There really was no specific one to blame and he knew that and hated that fact more than anything. The fact that it was really no ones fault. Rather noONES fault. It was all their faults. Musing on that fact he smirked slowly to himself looking up. Every bit of agony or sorrow gone from his face, replaced by something dark and vicious. A look of determination, one of a man willing to go any lengths for his means. Nothing at all the previous pathetic man he had been mere moments ago. "You tried to..." he hissed out as he stood, his laugh more assured and stronger much as his demeanor had become. His posture was a bit awkward still fumbling from the physical affects of his drinking binge.

"Mark my words here and now- I'm taking it back. I'm. Taking. It. Back. One way or another I'm taking it back dammit. Like it or not peng..." He paused lowering his head for a moment clicking his tongue shaking his head. That eerie silence returning once again as the storm of rage blew back in with one final thunderous crash as he snapped his head up furrowing up leaning into the his words as if they were his final lifeline.

"LIKE IT OR NOT- I. AM. A. **COBBLEPOT**!"

Roaring out loud enough to wake the dead, the echo of his declaration rattled hauntingly through the broken down manor. Anyone who dared to question the fact would have had to been a damn fool. Regardless of the fact other than his birds that were the only beings that never would do so, there was no being that was in the mansion to question the fact. Or perhaps rather - there shouldn't have been.

"Listen loudmouth - I don't care who you are, but unless you're looking to have me wipe the floor with your sorry behind there aint a thing here for you, So I suggest y' bugger off."

There shouldn't have been anyone else in the manor. SO why was some girl in a black blazer in here?


End file.
